A box for memory
by sian22
Summary: Faramir remembers for Eowyn how Kiriel's token came to him and gets an unexpected offer. For those who asked, a sidebar to 'A box of Mallorn'.


For those who asked for it...how the little box of mallorn game to Faramir. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and waiting..It evolved into more than a ficlet. It will make more sense of course if one reads "A box of mallorn'...

* * *

Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist, I will still not have the power to forget you."  
― Ovid, _The Poems of Exile_

* * *

The light in their bedroom has faded a little as the late morning sun drifts westward on its arc. Eowyn sits upon the window bench, her back nestled to Faramir's chest, one strong arm encircling her shoulder, another at her waist. So still, so poised, so careful he has been, only his voice and restless fingers have been betraying his emotion. She has felt his words as warm breath upon her cheek, but has not seen his face. She thinks perhaps it was better so. _Could she bear to see his eyes alight with remembered love for another? No. _But she does want to understand. This is another piece, a layer of the man who holds her now.

They have missed lunch, both unwilling to stop the story that had begun, to break the chain of memory and sharing. Faramir's voice is low as he finishes the tale, and lets silence expand softly for a while. _What does she think?_ he wonders. _Have I said too much?_

He sighs and lets her go, running his fingers through his hair, as he ever does when he is nervous. As he stands and stretches, the worry line is strong upon his forehead. Looking up, Eowyn longs to run her finger along it, to smooth it out, to take away the memory of hurt.

Catching her thought, Faramir takes her hand in his. "If only that would work, dear heart, though this is now an old dull ache." _Other grief has filled the cup to overflowing, not this. "_I worry more that I have needlessly upset you, that I should have spoken sooner." Eowyn considers her words for a long moment before she speaks.

"Yes, I wish I knew before. But I am not upset that someone else has loved you greatly as I do. Hearing of it now, it seems too precious a memory to have thrown out very lightly. In that way, I think I understand your reticence." She smiles, as she sees his face relax and the line recedes. "What does it mean I wonder that the women you have loved are soldiers?"

He laughs. "That I have ever been at war, and have had no chance to meet them otherwise?" The wry half-smile lingers but his eyes are serious, searching hers, as if with just his look he could make her understand. "Eowyn, I have spent my life holding back; keeping my opinions, cares, and concerns to myself, whether in council or before my father. It is the habit I need to break, I _want_ to break for us to work. I promise you I will try and be more forthcoming."

"Oh and here I thought your besetting sin was your messiness." Her eyes are bright with mischief, but she nods, accepting gratefully what he offers.

He grins back and pulls her up into his arms, planting a kiss upon her forehead. "Peace! I cannot handle abuse on an empty stomach. Let us find what is left in the kitchen before I faint."

* * *

The days unwind quite quickly then, and as they do, the household begins to have some order. The box of mallorn remains upon the window seat and each time she passes it, Eowyn thinks again of the sad tale and the need to find a place to keep it. One rainy morning she can wait no more and heads unerring for the place she knows she will find her husband.

As she enters the little library, Faramir turns and smiles his brilliant smile, poised with an armload of books he is trying to re-order. There is dust upon his sleeves, his cheek and in his hair. She laughs and heaves an exasperated sigh.

"Faramir, you are supposed to clean _before_ you load the shelves." He lays his load down and brushes his hands sheepishly, looking around at the dusty space as if he has only just noticed the disarray.

"I suppose you are right. Now it is I who couldn't wait to set things to right." He grins again. _Bema, _she thinks, _even dirty, he is beautiful_, and wonders about the prospect of a bath and a lazy afternoon. She tries to focus on her task and holds out the little box to him.

"I thought this should have a home, not a nomad's place on our seat. I wondered if you wanted it in here. It is so very lovely. Where did you keep it?"

"In my kit at the refuge. At first I wanted it near, but later I needed it put away. It was in the chest in my chambers." He looks around the room at the rich wood shelves and desk and fireside, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "Not here, it is too public." He shakes his head, and some of the dust drifts off. She tries her best not to laugh. "It doesn't feel right. Where did you put the other things from my chest?"

"Mostly in a drawer, in our bedroom."

"There then, I think they belong still together. It is enough for me to know that it is there and safe_."_

"Very well, I will let you settle it." Eowyn lays the box gently on the desk, as he turns back to the pile of the books, and once again the fine dust flies up from the shelves. She sighs. There is nothing for it but for her to get a pair of cloths and hand one to him. As they wipe along the shelves in easy silence, intent upon the job, Eowyn picks up a book to wipe its cover. The Elvish script makes her think again about the graceful runes upon the box and she wonders what they say.

"Faramir, you have never said how the token came to you or what it means."

He tilts his head to her, but this time the worry line is missing. "That is a sad tale also, Eowyn. Would you have that too?" She nods her head. He wipes his hands carefully with the cloth and walks around the desk to a case already filled. From a shelf he pulls a small book, battered and water stained: it looks to have a knife cut on one side, and from its state she knows it must have been with him on patrol. As Faramir opens it slowly the stiffened leather cracks. He pulls out a letter, and she sees a flowing hand of Elvish script written upon the fine but weathered parchment. Faramir settles himself on the edge of the desk to speak.

* * *

In the months after Kiriel left I was back at my post, harrying the Enemy in Ithilien. I was tired, but improving and at least there I had much to keep me occupied. Letters I had had from Mithrandir and Lord Haldir, both explaining they had seen her safely to Lorien and she was in the care of the Lady. I had none from Kiriel herself, and although it seemed to not portend well, she was behind the veil, protected, and I tried to be more patient.

I did not usually welcome my dreams but for once I would have willed them to come, to catch a glimpse of how she fared; to have had some certainty. But of course it did not happen. My sleep most often was disturbed by restlessness and worry and the Wave came often to taunt me in its stead.

I missed her everywhere, intensely: on the sorties, in the evening around the fire, in the spaces between the seconds that dragged too long. It seemed the men missed her too, so quickly had she been a part of us, so swiftly pulled away.

They were patient with me, for which I was very grateful. I was not myself, at times snapping out of turn, impatient, too quick to judge. Knowing where it came from did not make it easier to curb and several times Madril had me come for a walk outside the Window. He noted gravely that in his considered opinion I was being a bear and needed to give them all and myself a break. Of course he was right. I tried my best to settle and shortly after, the distractions started to arrive unlooked for: a new book from Amerith, some feadan music from my cousins, sweets from my aunt of Dol Amroth. I wondered if Madril and my brother had organized some campaign, so frequently did the packages come. Of course there was no word from my father. for which, in a way, I was thankful. I did not want to hear him say he had been right.

* * *

Boromir and his escort walked into Henneth Annun late one afternoon, as we were regrouping and planning our next moves. Surprised but grateful at his visit, I laid down the map that Madril and I had been marking and hugged him hard.

"What has brought you? This is a welcome surprise." So little did we have the chance to be together in those days, I eyed him a little suspiciously, wondering again if this was part of some campaign to cheer me up. I was truly pleased but a little irked, as no heartsick sergeant would get such consideration. I had never liked being made a fuss over.

"Messenger." he explained, holding up a large pack from which he pulled packets and letters, and several dusty bottles of what looked to be father's best vintage. My suspicion only grew but I was helpless to stop him: a force of nature with a mission. He announced he was ours for several days, and the next day would be a day of rest for all. Of course the company was thrilled, and as he moved about the refuge greeting the men he was welcomed with enthusiastic handshakes and grateful bows. We found places about the table for his escort and set about in earnest organizing a feast. After a noisy and festive dinner, the singing and music began and it seemed that this was exactly what the company needed after several tense and restless months.

As the evening shadows deepened and the first bottle of wine disappeared, Boromir's demeanor changed. His eyes became more thoughtful and finally he sighed and learned towards me. "Fara, will you come?" I had not heard him use my childhood name in years. _Why_ _he is trying to be so gentle_?

I rose and we walked to the Window, away from the firelight. He held something in his hand that I could not clearly see. His eyes became dark and somber and one great hand he raised up to clasp my shoulder. I did not need to hear his words to understand ill news was in store.

"This has come from Lorien for you. I thought it should not wait for your return to Minas Tirith." He placed gently in my grasp the box of mallorn, small and beautiful, the clasp then bright and new. Inside I found the letter and the leather tie, tightly coiled into a ring. My heart quailed. It was of course the one she had tied about her braid in the very space we stood. I read the runes; the prayer to Varda I had spoken to her and our names inscribed inside.

With a sense of gathering dread, I unfolded the letter. It was written in Sindarin and with some effort I deciphered the elaborate and flowing script. Knowing Boromir had never had the patience to learn it, I read the words aloud for only him to hear.

_To Faramir, Son of Denethor; Captain of Gondor:_

_Greetings and my blessing_

_ I beg your leave to send these words. We have not met, but I have heard and learned much of you from my daughter, and so I take this liberty. Cellin is my name, and I am Kiriel's mother._

_ My deepest gratitude I give to you, as through your actions and your care, you brought my daughter back to me, long past the time I had yet kept any hope. Such a gift it is and the more so to know she has found happiness, however brief, with you. She who held herself apart for so long, who feared weakness above all, has suffered to be vulnerable to something greater than herself, at last.  
_

_ You do not need words again to know how much she loves you. None that I can give could supplant that certainty in your mind. If you have wondered at her silence, you must know it is not that you are not ever in her thoughts. More it is that she fears to cause you more hurt, to give you hope where it cannot be, to open a wound repeatedly and thoughtlessly. I know her confinement eats at her, even in so beautiful a land, to be near to you and far.  
_

_ The Lord and my Lady have toiled here for months and still she is free of neither fatigue nor fear. The shadow lies too heavily upon her and now she finds the fair woods here are as much a prison as walls of stone. She has ever lacked the long patience of our people; too impetuous and restless, helpful traits in war, perhaps, but not now when she must abide behind the veil for the Valar know how many years. It is my sorrow to tell you now that with the Lady's blessing and protection she will journey to the Havens soon and leave to find the blessing and relief of Eressea.  
_

_ I grieve to be the messenger of such unwelcome tidings. Know that it eases my heart that she found joy with you and I would honour what you shared. By custom, I would have brought to you a bride's gift, just as you gave to her the ring. In this marriage box there would have been gold rings for your bond and a jewel. The wording is by long tradition and she asked to be placed herein three things:  
_

_ The first is a ring for memory. It is a circle of leather, the tie that held her hair when she arrived. She says it is the one she gained the day you sparred and her heart first began to open.  
_

_ The second is a lock of her hair, to be a token of her love. My daughter, who cared naught for garb, adornment, or grooming, I am amazed to find delights in a memory of a dance, a dress and your regard of her hair.  
_

_ The third is to be a memory of place. She wishes you to put within something of Ithilien where you both walked and she was at peace, before the Searching Eye began. This must be yours to do, Captain. I am certain you will know what is best._

_ It is a dear wish of my heart to know better the man whom she loves, who brought her happiness after so long apart. When time and circumstance allows, I pray that we can meet and perhaps share between us more of her. Keep safe with all my blessing._

_Thel síla erin lû e-govaned vîn._

_Cellin_

_Caras Galadhon_

Did I cry out? I am not sure, it seemed it was only in my heart, yet the men nearby looked up and Madril started to rise from his seat. _I have lost her now for ever._ I pulled away.

Boromir, with a gentle squeeze, let me go and looked swiftly over. Some of the men were rising in concern. He shook his head. "Leave him be for now." he said softly as he stopped Madril, who would have followed.

I found I had walked blindly down the stair to the forest floor. My face was wet with the spray of the curtain, but not tears. I wanted to howl, to cry and rage but my heart was leaden and I could not. I reached down to the forest floor, where the fallen leaves of Lebethron lay all about. As I gathered up a handful they felt dry as parchment, brittle and lifeless, the hopefulness of spring drained from them. _Just so my heart._ I lay them within the box. I touched the lock of her hair and the leather tie, longing so intently to place my hand upon her hair that it seemed I all but felt it. It was the veriest torture, and then I think I did howl.

I do not know how long I tarried, caught within my heartache, but the moon had risen and a chill breeze come up ere I heard soft footfalls on the leaves. A warm hand fell upon my shoulder.

"It is getting cold, little brother. Come inside." I heard Boromir pick up the box and a rustle of parchment as he folded the letter. Ever my protector, it hurt him greatly to see me suffering, and as I raised my head, I saw him quickly blink and run a hand across his face.

He helped me up and gazed upon me steadily. When he spoke it was earnest and low. "One day, Faramir, you and I will go together to Lorien and meet this lady. Father has always said that no one comes away from the hidden land unchanged. Perhaps there you can leave your longing."

Uncommon wisdom it was and the more valued, for it came from one who did not like to think too hard about the difficult corners of life. I turned and followed him up the stair, back to my friends and comrades, knowing that for a while it would have to be enough.

* * *

"Did you go?" Eowyn asks softly, afraid to find that she already knows the answer.

"No." Faramir answers. "From then on we were ever on patrol and the Enemy was gathering. I did not know then he would go to Lorien without me." _And come not home thereafter… _He does not say it aloud, but it hangs in the air like a shadow. "I do not know if I could go alone now." A rumble of thunder rolls in the distance. A storm is coming.

"You do not have to go alone, Faramir, if you do not wish it. I think you need to do this for Cellin and yourself, to help heal both your hurts, the older and the new. We could both go."

Eowyn places her hand upon a dusty cheek and he reaches up to hold it. He gathers her then into his arms, amazed and grateful again more that this lady of such great heart and courage is his wife. He thinks of what Aragorn has told him. _Grieving is work, and only when it is done and done well, can you find peace_. For both their sakes, he thinks, they will go, and in so doing, the old grief will heal the new.


End file.
